Walk On Water
by CoryphaeusRex
Summary: I take no responsibility for any blindness that may result from reading this. Challenge fic once again, this time Karkaroff and Cedric. Rating will rise with the next chapter. Will contain bondage, slash, sadism, and Igor Karkaroff. You have been warned.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes & Disclaimer:** I **don't **own Harry Potter and his associated universe. You knew that **already**. I'm thinking of disowning this fic, to be honest, but **despite **my misgivings, it's coming to **you**, freshly packaged and typed and **prettified**. This fic completely **isn't **my idea- I was **challenged **to write it and **everybody **knows I can't resist a challenge. Even a completely **squicky **one such as this. Just to notify you all before you **plough **right on in there, there are about **eight tonnes **of **warnings **attached to this. There's **slash **(obviously), **bondage**, **sadism**, slight OOC-ness (I made Cedric smarter than he really is lol) and copious amounts of **Igor Karkaroff**. If the thought of this doesn't burn your inner eyes out, then feel free to **read and review.**

(o.o)

Cedric didn't like the way Karkaroff was looking at him. There wasn't any particular reasoning behind this- he just didn't like it. He was pretty sure that this wasn't the same look everyone else got, and this was worrying.

See, Igor Karkaroff seemed to have a standard way of looking at people- an apparently absent-minded glance, tipped with malice and a nice helping of disdain to make it hit all the harder. And then there was the Krum look, which was probably the same basic components, but sugar-coated, to keep the Quidditch superstar happy. Also, the Harry look, which instead of being absent was chock-full of downright loathing- you could almost see Karkaroff's lip curling as he laid eyes on the youngest Triwizard champion.

Fleur didn't merit a change from the ordinary.

But when Karkaroff looked at Cedric, something deep and fundamental started flipping switches in a completely new combination. It was such a strange and primal level to be confronted on that Cedric would frequently make his excuses and leave, or very pointedly start talking to someone else until Karkaroff had gone.

Unfortunately, in these circumstances, the normal escape routes had been neatly closed off by etiquette. He had specifically been invited to take a tour of the Durmstrang boat, and to refuse would be unbelievably rude, and would bring the reputation of Hogwarts crashing down on its head.

If you listened to Percy Weasley.

Inside, Cedric was fuming at the way Karkaroff had caught him out. Outside, though, he managed a winning smile and an acceptance of the invitation, if he was allowed, of course.

It wasn't as if anyone was really going to say no.

But it had been worth a try, at least, the blond boy thought, as he ascended the gangplank. With Karkaroff's hand firmly planted on his shoulder (of course in nothing more than a fatherly way), he had the vague feeling of walking onto a prison ship, but of course that notion was swept aside when he actually took a look around.

Not a prison ship at all. A ghost ship.

Not an inch of the ship would have looked out of place in the seventeenth century. And on top of all the antique hardware littering the deck, the outer of the boat was in shocking disrepair. Somewhere in Cedric's thoughts, this made a strange kind of sense, what with the boat travelling along underwater. Wouldn't be right to primp up the outside when it's just going to be wrecked by the pressure again.

Having said that, it did jar a bit with Karkaroff's immaculate sense of presentation, having a ship that looked like a wreck from the deep. He could just as easily have charmed the outside as well as the interior.

Cedric stole a glance at the man next to him, caught Karkaroff watching for his reaction, blushed and looked away. Then, quite suddenly, he understood.

This was immaculate presentation. This wasn't scruffy- this was _atmospheric_. That special kind of casual presentation that would inspire awe. A sunken ship rising from the lake? Now that's _impressive_.

You had to admit, the bastard had _style_.

Even if Cedric wasn't overawed by the ship itself, after taking a mental step backwards and surveying the backstage thought process that had gone into it, he was suitably stunned. Enough to allow himself to be led around by Karkaroff, pointing out the architectural points of his ship in a bright voice, all the while sneaking sidelong glances at the blond boy.

The hand on his shoulder had moved across. Now it was a friendly arm taking over his upper back.

Karkaroff's enthusiasm was almost infectious. You couldn't possibly get annoyed at him when he was excitedly explaining the fine craftsmanship of the bow, and the figurehead, a dark haired Siren with a naughty smile, and oh, just wait until you see what the inside's like- the students love it- they feel it's more like home than the castle...

It was that word that jarred Cedric back into himself. Students. He wasn't admiring a ship with a contemporary, he was being insistently led belowdecks by a man almost thrice his age, who also kept looking at him in that odd way. This was not a good idea.

And then he was caught up in it again, as he was whisked along the low-ceilinged passageways, through the galley, past numerous student bedrooms, patriotically decorated in crimson and black, with posters of Krum on most of the walls. It seemed that most of the Durmstrang girls were as anxious to get close to Viktor as the Hogwarts ones were. Cedric thought he caught a glimpse of a _Weird Sisters _poster as a room flashed past, and smiled to himself. No matter how forbidding the Durmstrang students seemed, with their fur capes and haughty expressions, they weren't all that different, after all.

God, this ship was big. Even at the speed which Karkaroff was going, there always seemed to be a new place around the corner, and some new marvel for the Bulgarian to chat excitedly about. Cedric would have tired, were it not for the energy and drive of the man propelling him around the boat. It was most definitely rubbing off.

Cedric felt as though he had walked miles by the time he finally saw a familiar stretch of passage- the entrance. No sooner had he mentally sighed with relief than the emotion turned to confusion, as a number of hawk-faced Durmstrang boys rushed in, closing the trapdoor behind them, and bolting it securely.

Karkaroff caught one of the boys rushing past, and seemed to be questioning him in his native language. The boy gabbled a reply, and with an exasperated sigh, Karkaroff let go of his furs and let him catch up with the rest.

"What is it, Professor Karkaroff?" Cedric asked, trying his level best to keep the panic from his voice.

"There is a storm outside, Mr Diggory," Karkaroff replied tersely, then swore in Bulgarian. At least, with _that _tone of voice, Cedric assumed it to be an oath of some description. "The waves appear to have made off with our gangplank, and the winds are too strong to step on deck."

As if on cue, the ship lurched slightly to one side, buffeted by the waves. Cedric lost his footing, and would have slammed into the wall, shoulder first, had it not been for Karkaroff's restraining grip.

"Will we sink?" the blond boy asked, as soon as he had been freed, which took slightly longer than was probably strictly necessary.

Karkaroff laughed.

"We are on a sunken ship, my friend! What else can we do?" he asked, his hand finding its way back to Cedric's shoulder with a boisterous, manly clap. "We will be perfectly safe, Mr Diggory, I assure you of that."

Cedric's relief was evident in the slump of his shoulders. Karkaroff laughed again, and began to help the boy along the corridor, hauling him along as those with good sea legs are wont to do with those who do not.

The dining room was eventually reached, and as Cedric sat down heavily on a chair that Karkaroff kindly drew up for him, he made the mistake of looking towards one of the portholes.

Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the water, making it as clear as glass for brief seconds at a time. Other than these random interludes, the lake was pitch dark, the waves rolling and turning the ship about at a whim. Cedric was just focusing on a many-tentacled outline that the lightning kept throwing into sharp relief, when there was an awkward cough from opposite him.

Karkaroff had been conversing with a small knot of boys, and now, waving them away, he took a chair for himself and sat down in front of Cedric.

"The boys inform me that this storm may be quite a violent one," he sighed, leaning forwards slightly and looking Cedric in the eye. The blond boy wrenched his gaze away, preferring a stareout with the floor.

"Okay," Cedric replied, not sure whether it was bravado, or just terror that made him so quick to agree. All that water...

"Also, it appears to be quite widespread. It will be with us for some time," Karkaroff continued, his eyes still fixed on Cedric's, even if the Triwizard champion had found better things to look at. Like the empty portholes.

"All right," the boy nodded, only just realising that there was actually no glass between the air in the dining room and the crushing waves outside.

"This may mean you cannot return to Hogwarts tonight," the headmaster went on, his expression hovering between pious concern and a smug smirk. Luckily, the pious concern won out, but the corners of his mouth continued to twitch as he watched Cedric's pale face taking stock of the rolling waves.

"Yes," the blond replied without thinking. What if all that water suddenly came in...

"And in that case, you must stay here for the night," Karkaroff finally delivered the killing stroke. Cedric's eyes snapped away from the portholes and up to the carefully arranged paternal expression on Karkaroff's face. It was a wonderful illusion, except he'd got the eyes wrong. Concerned expressions rarely contain such a wicked glint to the eye.

"You _what_?"

"There is no way for you to get back to your castle until the storm subsides, Mr Diggory. Do not worry, I will find you suitable quarters."

_Oh, I bet you will,_ Cedric thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:** Can you tell what it is yet? If you **managed **to pass through the first chapter completely **innocently **and cannot tell what is about to happen, then I suggest you go read something else. Some nice **CedricCho **het, perhaps? Also, if you have any particular **fondness **for Cedric I suggest you **look away now**. On the other hand, if you are still harbouring a little spark of **hate **for Mr Diggory (dead as he may be), go right on ahead. Keep **reviewing**- I like to hear how **disturbed **my readers are.

(o.o)

Some hours later, and Cedric's fears so far appeared to be unfounded. Aside from sidelong looks, he didn't appear to be getting any more attention from Karkaroff than was generally acceptable. He had held out against being given a room until it was far too late for the possibility to be ignored any longer, and when this became the case he had been offered a spare room, apparently belonging to a student who had been acquainting himself with Hogwarts and its female population when the storm had hit.

Cedric hoped he was enjoying himself.

The room was right next to Karkaroff's, but there was a good solid door holding out intruders and overcurious sleepwalkers in the corridor. Krum's room was over the way, and Cedric had to note, _he_ certainly seemed able to pass the night unmolested.

The looks from Karkaroff were the only problem he'd been able to discern. Were it not for the language of those eyes, Cedric would not have thought twice about the friendly hand on his shoulder; the generosity of the man to offer him a room for the night when he became stranded; even the offer to tour the boat.

But the eyes were the windows to the soul, right?

Even if nothing happened to him while he slept on this sunken ship, it wasn't for lack of desire on Karkaroff's part. It occurred to Cedric, while he uneasily but nevertheless swiftly drifted off into wave-rocked sleep, that thoughts like this might be sheer vanity. After all, what made him more special than Krum, or any of the other youths inhabiting the shipwreck?

...shipwreck...

...wreck...

The blond boy woke with a start. The ship was rocking, was still being tossed about by the waves, but it seemed more intense than before. He stood up, clad only in the jeans he had been wearing underneath his Hogwarts robes, and stepped out into the passage.

Water swirled about his ankles, dark, murky water that seemed to have its own tides despite being all of four inches deep. He wandered down the corridor regardless, the cold water soaking into the hem of his jeans, adding weight.

After wandering through the rabbit-warren of passageways, without encountering a single living soul, he eventually emerged into the dining room, and stopped in horror.

The empty portholes were leaking. Slower than if the charm had simply been removed- this was more like the spell being worn away by the pressure of all that dark lake water. With every roll of the waves, there was a swell, and more of the protection broke away from the iron frame.

All that water...

Cedric couldn't move for fear. He couldn't even raise his voice to call for help as another massive current rocked the wreck. The porthole at the far end of the dining room burst inwards, and black water flooded in, quickly passing Cedric's knees and waist.

He struggled through the rising tide, back towards the door he had entered by. As he neared it, it was slammed shut by a fresh influx as the second porthole gave way. No amount of pulling would change its mind.

Cedric opened his mouth in a silent scream as the rest of the portholes opened, all at once. The water hit, smashing into him with the force of an icy sledgehammer, filling his nose, his mouth, his lungs...

The blond boy woke with a start.

Blue eyes wide and unfocused, he stared around the room, wondering who had let forth the yell that had woken him up. It took a few seconds to realise it was himself, and then the realisation was quickly deemed irrelevant once it became evident that he was still soaking wet.

He yelped, and leapt straight out of his bed, the sheets seeming to him to be saturated with that deadly lake water. The ship lurched again, and he stumbled across the room, into the doorway.

Into the _open _doorway.

He was prevented from falling right across the corridor by the surprisingly strong grip of Igor Karkaroff. The headmaster had been standing in the way of the door, but Cedric wasn't really in the right state of conciousness to notice. All his attention was focused on the eddies of water about his feet.

"Professor... the water... all the water..." he stammered, breathlessly, his horrified but strangely unfocused eyes darting along the curves of the tiny waves.

Karkaroff attempted to support the boy's faltering steps back into the room, but when Cedric swayed a little too much, was forced to solve the problem by the simple expedient of picking the champion up bodily and carrying him through the doorway.

The Bulgarian's bare feet made no sound on the perfectly dry floor.

Cedric resisted being put down on that floor, clinging onto Karkaroff's shoulders in terror. The water was rising, he insisted, and it would sweep him away and out of the porthole and he didn't want to drown in the middle of the lake...

Karkaroff sat down at the head of the spartan bed, and the blond boy continued to clutch at him, desperately trying to keep his feet dry and safe from the pull of the current. If Cedric had been fully conscious at any point, he would have been vaguely surprised to find that Karkaroff's grip tightened about his shoulders, crushing him close and giving him a stable starting point to facilitate his escape from the water.

"Hush, Cedric... you are perfectly safe..." the Bulgarian murmured into the boy's hair, closing his eyes for a moment or two. Cedric, who seconds before had been thrashing and fighting to escape the tide, gradually relaxed, his body limp in Karkaroff's arms. His eyes remained slightly out of focus, staring past the headmaster's shoulder to a point somewhere near the corner of the ceiling.

"You see? Nothing to worry about," Karkaroff sighed soothingly, running a many-ringed hand down Cedric's back, and then back up and across the boy's taut shoulderblades. Cedric arched away from the touch, but apparently only due to mild ticklishness, rather than actual aversion.

There was an ominous creaking from one corner of the room. The ship was settling itself down now that the storm had passed, but Cedric's eyes took in the terrifying sight of the ancient timbers that made up the walls buckling inwards, taking all the strain they could before they gave in...

He began to struggle again, but Karkaroff simply held him more firmly until he yelled in protest. Very aware of the open door, and the inability he had of reaching it and closing it, Karkaroff was forced to try a different tack. If Mr Diggory had storms in his mind, then something subtler than another tempest was called for.

"All that water... all the water... oh my god I'm going to drown..." Cedric muttered feverishly under his breath, the steady hum of the words punctuated only by sharp intakes of breath, the only kind he felt able to take now that the water had risen to almost the level of his feet, even curled up in Karkaroff's lap as he was.

"But see, Cedric, the water is lower on this side of the room," Karkaroff pointed out slyly. The power of suggestion didn't always work, but on this boy, at this time? It was hardly worth making a backup plan.

"Oh... it is, isn't it? Does that mean the ship is tipping?" Cedric asked vaguely, his eyes still darting around the lower corners of the room.

"It seems the stern is rising. It may even stay out of the water while the rest is submerged," Karkaroff explained. It made no sense in terms of science, but then, neither did being swept away by waves that did not exist, or cowering from timbers which were several centuries away from even considering splitting.

"What's in the stern?" the boy asked, his eyes unfocusing again and almost sliding closed. He was jolted into wakefulness by another creak from the antiquated ship.

"Only my quarters."

If this sounded odd to Cedric, it certainly wasn't showing on his face. All that was coming through on that particular wavelength was the impression of hysteria, as he again stared at inrushing water which wasn't actually there.

"Can we go, then? Because the water's getting higher..." The boy fidgeted anxiously, quite sure he was up to his ankles in the murky contents of the lake.

Karkaroff obligingly released him, but when it became clear that Cedric once again could not hold his own against the invisible rolling tide, the Bulgarian slung an arm around the boy's waist and half-lifted him out of the door, along the perfectly level corridor and into his own quarters. He closed the door with his free hand, and a smile crossed his face as Cedric leaned heavily against it.

"Come, my friend, sit down," the older man smiled warmly. Seeming somewhat dazed, Cedric obeyed, staggering a little as his mind felt the boat sway. He sat down heavily on the edge of Karkaroff's bed, drawing his legs up and away from the dry carpet and wrapping his arms about his knees.

"You have nothing to worry about anymore," Karkaroff continued, locking the door with a deft flick of his wrist. "See? The water is lower here, and it isn't rising any more."

"No... that's good..." Cedric noted hazily, then whatever else he may have wanted to say was cut off as the ship lurched, just once, but violently enough to rob him of his balance. He landed heavily amidst the opulent pillows, with a weary sigh, and his eyes slid closed in exhaustion.

Catlike, Karkaroff padded across the carpet. The only sound in the room was Cedric's slowly calming breathing, which had levelled and deepened. It was only a matter of time before the boy drifted off the plateau of semi-consciousness which he had been coasting on, and slipped right down into the depths of sleep.

Cedric's eyes flickered as what little light had been shining on his eyelids dimmed to nothing. Above the sound of the calming storm in his head, he could hear no sound, and couldn't quite fathom why this was worrying some small part of his subconscious. What could he possibly be hearing?

And then he heard it. Or rather, felt it. Dragging along the skin of his collarbone, scoring a vaguely circular pattern, embellished with curls at random points about the curve. His blue eyes snapped open.

Karkaroff was leaning over him, eyes interestedly following the pattern forming in raised red at the base of Cedric's throat. The very pattern that his own long and unnaturally strong nails were marking.

Cedric opened his mouth to speak, but only a gasp of pain emerged as the wandering point dug in deeper, and _twisted_. He felt the skin break, the hot blood welling from the wound, and running down over his chest as he tried to move to face Karkaroff.

Something should have warned him otherwise. If speaking was discouraged, then what reaction was movement going to provoke?

The answer to that wasn't as obvious as it may first have seemed. True, Karkaroff did force him back down, with one firm hand on the shoulder that Cedric had just tried to raise from the bed. But then, with the fingertips of the other, he began to trace up the thin streak of blood, collecting it, preventing it from reaching the sheets. Somewhere around the centre of Cedric's chest, the blood had begun to pool, and it was here that Karkaroff's fingers lifted from the boy's skin.

Cedric relaxed, and then froze again as bloodstained fingertips met with his lower lip, and surprisingly gently ran along it, smearing his own blood along the way. As the finger moved across, it tugged slightly, and a few tiny droplets ran between Cedric's lips, filling his mouth with that oddly metallic taste.

It brought him back to himself slightly. He was younger, fitter and stronger than Karkaroff, so why exactly was he lying back and letting this happen to him? Nobody would be able to call this acceptable, normal, within the bounds of propriety, and therefore there was no reason for him to stay. He sat up suddenly, pushing Karkaroff's hands roughly aside, as the pool of blood spilled down his torso in tiny rivulets, staining the waistband of his jeans.

He was halfway towards standing up when a hand caught him across the side of his face, hard enough to set his head spinning, knocking him back down onto the bed again. He was wise enough (and dizzy enough) not to immediately try to get back up. The left side of his face felt as though it was on fire. The substantial number of sharply-cut, diamond-hard jewels that Karkaroff saw fit to adorn his knuckles with had effectively opened up one side of Cedric's face. He could feel the open wounds throbbing, as the blood ran down his cheek and into his ear, dulling his hearing.

And then this became irrelevant as Karkaroff's hands returned, this time to trace shapes in the rapidly drying blood coating Cedric's chest. Even through the liquid layer, those sharp nails dragged along his skin, leaving a burning, raised trail, which the remaining blood only served to irritate. The boy couldn't help but involuntarily shy away from the itching spirals and swirls adorning his body.

Then, without warning, the random sketching was over, as Karkaroff's bloody hand moved to take his chin. His head was roughly turned so that the left side lay uppermost, and Cedric yelped as the wounds were stretched and re-opened.

He could sense Karkaroff's smirk even without looking.

His face was turned back to where it had been before, and Cedric winced as the cuts on his face were manipulated once again. There was a soft laugh, from the darkness beside him, and he saw a flash of white teeth as Karkaroff noticed his pained expression.

The boy closed his eyes, wearily. He could feel every single wound on his body aching; itching and burning deep under his skin, but was determined not to show it again. If this was about humiliation- well, he was not going to give Karkaroff the satisfaction.

There was a sigh from over to his left.

A completely different feeling invaded the list of complaints, speeding right to the top and demanding Cedric's full attention. It was the feeling of someone else's lips against his own.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes:** Well, if you're here, **congratulations **on your strong stomach and **willingness **to read Cedric being **beaten **into a bloody pulp. Really, it's an **admirable **quality. Just a **short **chapter for y'all this time, due to lack of **creativity **and the **pressure **being laid on me that means I can't quite **concentrate**. Here's where the **pain **changes, and **violence **just isn't what it used to be. Read and review, **please**.

(o.o)

Cedric's eyes flicked once, as he thought about opening them, then decided against it. He already knew what was happening, and it was disturbing enough without him having to see it as well. He could feel Karkaroff's tongue moving against his lips, slightly parted in shock; lapping up the blood whilst insistently seeking entry to his mouth. Equally insistently, Cedric refused it.

Karkaroff drew back, and before Cedric had the chance to think that maybe his torment was over, another dizzying blow landed on the same side of his face, tearing at the old wounds and slicing some new ones into the bargain. Against his will, the boy yelled, and then the sound was lowered to a continuous hiss of pain as Karkaroff gripped his face, fingertips indelicately exploring the torn skin, smearing the blood and manipulating the ruined flesh.

A look passed between them, and even Cedric could see the unspoken lesson in this. _Give me what I want, and no one gets hurt. Particularly you._ With a sigh, he relaxed under Karkaroff's grip, and in return the Bulgarian released his face. Grudgingly.

Cedric sighed, just about the only vocal sound he could make with his left cheek in its current state. Karkaroff gave him a very long and very dark look, and almost immediately, silence reigned. The older man smirked at the minor triumph, and Cedric resolved to escape as soon as possible. Or else, who knew what could happen?

The Bulgarian moved in again, and this time Cedric yielded. He regretted the decision immediately, but as Karkaroff's hot breath met with his mangled face, began to accept it as the lesser of two evils.

With his eyes closed, the experience was almost bearable. Almost.

In his sleep-deprived state, it was a number of moments before Cedric realised he was actually responding. Karkaroff had realised it too, and noted the abrupt cessation with a low laugh, drawing away from the boy.

Tired and in pain and confused, Cedric's head lolled to one side, but unfortunately for him it was the left side. With a yelp of pain, he jerked his face from the pillow, and the momentum carried him so that the torn side faced the ceiling. His shoulders relaxed as the burning pain stopped.

And then tautened up again as Karkaroff licked a long trail up his neck and across the bloody mess of the boy's face. Cedric whimpered, for a number of reasons, only a few of which seemed to have anything to do with excruciating pain.

Certain of these reasons were pushed higher up the list when he felt the Bulgarian's surprisingly slight weight come down atop him. Straddling his waist, Karkaroff effectively had the boy pinned to the bed, and it surprised even Cedric to find that he didn't fight, struggle or even squirm away.

Cedric shivered.

Because of the blood, of course, now drying and cracking on his chest, having largely cooled the heat of the whole-body blush he seemed to be experiencing. Absolutely. That must be it. Why would he be shivering under the frankly predatory gaze of Igor Karkaroff? What an absurd conclusion to jump to. Honestly.

Karkaroff leaned in close again, and all rational argument on Cedric's part went out of the window under the laser glare of those slate-grey eyes. The boy's heart began to pound, so loudly that Karkaroff could surely feel it, close as he was.

And the older man _could _feel it, it was obvious in the sly grin that split his face as he looked down into Cedric's terrified eyes. The boy was running on adrenaline, that much was obvious, but what other hormones had got mixed up in the rush?

Cedric gasped, the movement sending another thrill of pain through his face, as Karkaroff quite literally went for his throat. The boy felt the bruises forming beneath the Bulgarian's mouth, giving in to kisses so rough they could only be referred to as bites. His back arched, involuntarily, and he felt the fabric of Karkaroff's shirt on his bare skin, rubbing against the map of grazes on his chest. His blue eyes were wide, both with the pain and with the... the exhileration. That was the only thing to call it, as Cedric's mind was skirting around a chasm of an idea that his hormones were all too happy to dive, lemming-like, into.

Karkaroff's rough kisses moved up to Cedric's mouth, and the boy braced himself by the simple solution of giving as good as he got. He felt Karkaroff's eyebrows raise in shock, and heard the laugh as a hand slipped to the side of his head, toying with a lock of his usually immaculate hair.

Feeling Karkaroff's weight shift to one side and then disappear from atop him altogether, Cedric seized his chance. In one fluid movement, he shoved the Bulgarian away from him and rolled off the bed, landing clumsily on his feet. It was this clumsiness that was to be his undoing. That and the locked door.

For it was as he struggled with the key in the lock that Karkaroff caught up with him. He didn't hear the catlike footsteps approaching but there was no mistaking the heat radiating from the man's body, right behind him. Not that he had much time to observe this before he was grabbed by the hair and swung around, slamming round into the wall, face first. He managed to turn aside a split second before his nose would have been broken, and it was fortunate for him that he turned to the left. His undamaged cheek hit the wall with a resounding thump, and he felt the bones in his jaw shift slightly.

He was pinned, held flat against the wall by the pressure of Karkaroff's warm body against his own. With one hand in the centre of his shoulderblades, the Bulgarian had effectively paralysed his arms, so the question of a struggle was neatly removed from the equation.

Cedric felt his skin prickle at the feel of Karkaroff's breath on his neck. The older man inhaled deeply, nuzzling against the boy's collarbone in a manner that somehow contrived to be threatening.

"We were getting along so well, Cedric," he sighed, pausing to nip gently at the boy's neck. "What changed your mind, my dear?"

The blond knew better than to answer. Karkaroff's free hand found its way up into the hair at the nape of his neck, winding into the fair curls and twisting it around his fist. Cedric hissed in pain as his head was yanked backwards until he could see Karkaroff's face out of the corner of his eye.

"Come back to bed, Cedric," Karkaroff purred mockingly, and the boy was surprised to find a tiny shiver pass right down his spine, emanating from the point where the Bulgarian's hand met his skin. And that wasn't right. Most definitely not.

This didn't stop him from reacting when the hand was removed. He half-spun around, meaning to attempt another escape, but was once again ruthlessly slammed against the wall. Karkaroff raised a hand, going to re-open the blazing wounds in Cedric's face. The boy flinched, but then the blow never came. Instead, he felt Karkaroff's warm palm rest, flat, against his stomach. It slowly slid down through the trail of sticky blood until the Bulgarian's fingertips slipped just slightly beneath the waistband of Cedric's jeans.

The boy's breathing stilled to a shallow, stuttering pace, not all that far removed from his earlier nightmare hyperventilating. Karkaroff smiled luxuriantly at him, and his fingers began to wander, tracing the well-defined lines of Cedric's hip-bones all the way up to his waist, and then all the way back down again.

Cedric whimpered, and Karkaroff's smile only grew broader as his nails scored a wide trail up the boy's muscular stomach, catching on the edges of the trail of blood, which had already dried and stuck to the curving wounds that had been formed earlier.

Another pained yelp split the air as Karkaroff's nails, having reached Cedric's shoulder, dug in deeply, drawing blood as they split the skin. The Bulgarian's hand clenched into a fist, penetrating deeper into the skin and _tugging_, viciously. Cedric squirmed, and Karkaroff extracted his now bloody fingernails from the boy's flesh, his arm sliding down and around Cedric's waist, pulling him closer, if it was at all possible.

As Karkaroff leaned in to kiss him viciously once more, Cedric felt the Bulgarian's hand move slightly lower, running under the back of his jeans, then sliding around to the front to toy with the brass button.

Cedric felt that button tugged open, and broke away from Karkaroff's invading kiss with a slight gasp of shock. Not that he hadn't been expecting it. Twisted as the older man was, there was quite obviously only one way this could have been leading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes**: I for one can't believe I'm continuing with this. But I can't leave a half-finished story in that state, now, can I? There is more sexual behaviour. There is more violence. There is more slash. There is more not-quite-paedophilia (by two years, folks). If you've read so far, you won't be surprised by this, but just for those who are tuning in at chapter 3 (because there's bound to be somebody), warnings are attached.

(o.o)

Karkaroff wasted no time in ridding Cedric of his jeans, leaving him standing uncomfortably pinned against the wall in his boxers. Luckily for him, the Bulgarian was feeling magnanimous, and allowed him to keep his dignity. For the moment.

Even in the warmth of the room, Cedric was shivering, suppressing the urge to fold his arms across his chest. For a few moments, his arms twitched, as though he would, but a look from Karkaroff stopped him cold.

It was that look that was making him shiver. The looks which had made him so nervous when he had first encountered Karkaroff were _nothing_ compared to this. It was a look that burned, that mentally undressed him and liked what it found when it did. Cedric could _feel_ those grey eyes roaming over his body, soaked with sweat and blood. It wasn't helping that he was now rather conspicuously aroused.

After surveying every inch of him, eyeing him up like some sort of pretty prize, those eyes silently beckoned him over to the bed, secure in the knowledge that Cedric was not going to run away, couldn't run away, even if he still wanted to. The warnings from earlier, still emblazoned on his cheek, were enough of a reminder for him not to try.

Slightly unsteady on his feet, Cedric followed the directions of that gaze, not quite sure why he was doing so. A small part of his brain decided that it would be better to subject himself to whatever Karkaroff wanted, rather than risk further pain and mutilation. He was rather attached to his face.

He stood, awkwardly, by the opulently-covered bed, still shivering slightly, watching Karkaroff pad elegantly across to a chest of drawers between the bed and the wall.

"Make yourself comfortable," Karkaroff smiled, absently, in his direction, but it was a wolfish smile, possessive and threatening. Cedric dropped like a stone, sitting down on the bed and drawing his feet onto the covers. It took him a few moments to realise he was sitting with his legs conspicuously open, and pressed his knees together, resting his cheek across the tops of his knees.

It was this that allowed him to see what Karkaroff had removed from the drawer, and a shiver ran down his spine as it glinted in the dim light. A short but nonetheless elegant dagger, probably pure silver, knowing Karkaroff's love of a show. The blade melted into the hilt without much fuss, from lethal edge to an elegant carving of a phoenix, its eyes set with rubies and its head framed with amber and jasper. The Bulgarian spun it on his palm a few times, then caught the hilt in his fist, mid-spin.

Cedric didn't realise he'd been watching apprehensively until Karkaroff turned his attentions back to the boy on the bed. The blond shrank away from the approaching blade, but as his eyes met Karkaroff's, pleading not to be hurt again, he saw that the knife was only a threat. If he misbehaved… this was what would happen to him.

It wasn't a fear of dying. It was a fear of pain.

And this was unusual. Cedric acquired enough minor injuries training for, and playing, Quidditch to make Madam Pomfrey weep with despair. He should know how to put up with bruises and cuts by now. But this was different. These were bruises with ulterior motives, cuts with layers of meaning, even as they ripped open layers of skin. And this sort of pain was so… so _casual_. It was rather frightening, wondering just how far Karkaroff would go to instill obedience into his prisoner. Cedric didn't really want to push it to find out.

He looked away, down to his bare feet, toes already clenching on the rich-coloured sheets. Feeling the bed give beside him, he still didn't look up, not even at the feel of Karkaroff's hot breath on his neck.

"You look uneasy, Cedric. You should relax a little," the older man purred, and Cedric could feel the loose material of Karkaroff's shirt brushing against his arm. The boy didn't answer, didn't make a sound, as the knife-point was pressed against his upper arm, the uppermost part of his body at that moment. The skin split almost immediately at the touch.

_Sharp. Of course it__'__s sharp. Karkaroff isn__'__t the type to keep blunt knives for show,_ Cedric thought ruefully, finding himself strangely detached from it all. As long as he didn't meet Karkaroff's smouldering gaze again, he might just be all right.

The knife began to move, opening fine wounds in the boy's skin, causing spiderweb trails of blood to run out and trace their way over his muscular arm. It didn't lift off the skin once, causing all the little spiral-centred flower-like shapes and intricate leaves that Karkaroff was drawing on his arm to be linked together with one long, shining red vine.

It hurt. Oh god, did it hurt. But not as much as it could have done. Somewhere deep inside, Cedric was glad that the knife was sharp, not blunted and dragging across his tender skin.

"You're such a good boy," Karkaroff sighed, finally removing the knife and casting it to one side. Cedric's eyes followed its descent, watching his own blood gleam on the silver blade. He didn't look as one of Karkaroff's long, slim hands met with his knee, and ran down his thigh, light as a falling feather.

The warm palm rested there for a long moment, and Cedric felt his face grow hot- he _knew_ Karkaroff was studying the detached expression on his face, and equally certainly knew that it was amusing to the older man.

"Trying to distance yourself, Cedric?" the Bulgarian asked mockingly, his hand now travelling around Cedric's thigh, teasing a sensitive spot on the inside that made the boy shudder involuntarily. "Trying not to feel what you so _obviously_ do?"

Cedric still didn't answer, still didn't turn and face his tormentor, and this angered Karkaroff, for the umpteenth time that night. With an oddly strong grip, his hand tightened on Cedric's inner thigh and tugged, forcing the boy's legs apart and unbalancing him. His back hit the mattress with a soft thump, his arms still rebelliously folded across his chest.

This was quickly remedied, again by Karkaroff's hot palms, prising his arms away from his body, meeting a defiantly disinterested lack of resistance. Cedric knew he was going to get hit for it, but didn't care any more. A small part of his mind still clung to the vain hope that if Karkaroff elicited no reaction, then he would lose interest, and let him return to his own, empty room.

The pain, when it came, was worse than before, leaving his cheek smarting more than it had done the first two times. He refrained from making any noise other than a sharp intake of breath from between his clenched teeth, but apparently that alone was enough to quench Karkaroff's anger, at least for now.

"Cedric," Karkaroff murmured, a sing-song tone to his voice. "Why must you be so silly about this? It's only a bit of fun. Sport. You understand sport. You are a healthy, active boy."

Cedric ground his teeth together as rage welled within him. He wanted to lash out, to repay all these hurts and humiliations in kind, but he knew it wasn't going to serve him anything. He was already dizzy from all those blows to the head, and didn't trust himself to get even a single punch in before he lost his balance and momentum. But still, to not even try, it felt like an affront to his masculinity.

Nevertheless, he now allowed his arms to be manoeuvred away from his body, laid down on the sheets beside him. He clenched his fists in the sheets as another flare of fighting spirit rose inside. Once all this was over, then he'd have his revenge. Surely all those who were pushing for inter-school relationships would think twice when they saw the bruises and the cuts.

Karkaroff didn't seem interested in any more blood, for now. He was tracing the lines of Cedric's stomach muscles with his long nails, and even though they dragged, and caused the skin in their wake to flush an angry red, they didn't break the skin.

"It is obvious you are a sportsman, Cedric," Karkaroff said, conversationally. "Your physique is superb. It is such a shame that young people today do not take an interest in sport."

After this return to rationality, it was another U-turn as Karkaroff leant down to lick some of the drying blood from Cedric's body, his hot tongue lingering over the deep crevices between the boy's well-defined muscles.

Cedric could feel his fingernails digging into his palms, even through two layers of sheets.

"Look, just... stop, okay," he said, trying one last attempt at reason. "This has gone too far already. You're a teacher, for God's sake, and I'm a pupil. Just... let me go now, and I promise I won't tell them it was you. I'll just say I slipped or something. Please."

He swallowed, hard, as Karkaroff turned to look at him. It had taken all he had to force out that little speech, and he had a horrible feeling it was all going to be in vain.

Karkaroff laughed.

"You talk as if I have kidnapped you, Cedric, or beguiled you in some way. I was doing my rounds of the ship, and you forced yourself upon me as I passed your bedroom. When I declined your affections, you followed me to my quarters. To defend my reputation, I was forced to inflict some minor harm on you to deter you, lest someone come in, find us and assume the worst."

"No, you can't lie about something like this."

"Who will be the liar?" Karkaroff asked, with a nasty smirk. "Oh, it will be pure poetry, your fall from grace. The heroic Triwizard champion, Quidditch captain, an object of lust for all the young ladies; brought down by his own unnatural desires. The _disgrace_, as he forces himself on a teacher, a representative of another school no less, who only wanted to be hospitable by offering him a place to shelter."

"You can't," Cedric said, but there was no conviction in his voice any more.

"I can," Karkaroff whispered, gleefully. "I can and I will. Unless, of course, you cooperate."

Cedric closed his eyes, hating himself for not being able to fight his way out of this mess. "Whatever you want."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Notes:** Guys! I'm sorry! My writing tutor dragged me away from all my usual slashy joys, for THREE DAMN YEARS! But it's nearly over, and with that in mind I'm taking a brief break from my bloody coursework to keep mah reviewers happy. Read and review, and show me your love!

(o.o)

"That is more like it," Karkaroff's breath was hot against Cedric's ear. "I do like to encounter co-operation."

Cedric's eyes remained closed – he didn't want to see what was coming next, didn't think he could control the panic rising in him if he saw another knife or a whip or something really dreadful that was going to disfigure him forever. He fancied he heard a metallic noise, and his eyes snapped open of their own accord.

It was only Karkaroff's belt buckle. Cedric wasn't sure quite when this had become an 'only', nor that it was any better than the knives and sharp rings. There was pain, sure, and then there was pain, humiliation _and_ emasculation, and he didn't know how he'd fare with all three at once. But the choice was averted, as Karkaroff cast aside the belt but didn't strip any further. The older man's fingertips wandered over Cedric's lips, gently brushing against the soft and vulnerable skin.

"Do you know what I want, Cedric?" he asked, quiet in the dark of the room.

"Me," Cedric answered, and felt Karkaroff's fingers press against his mouth as he spoke.

"Such arrogance," Karkaroff marvelled, studying the boy's frightened features. "But, in this case, you are right. I want you. How does that make you feel?"

Cedric wrestled with the question for a noticeable moment. There was the obvious, suicidally honest answer, which was that it creeped him out no end and he'd like to leave now please. There was the flattering answer, which was that it was an honour and a privilege, etcetera etcetera, but he sensed Karkaroff would recognise sheer audacious toadying when he saw it. The varying middle grounds he could choose were uniformly unattractive, but he might as well get it over with.

He reared upwards, stretching the skin on his arms painfully to balance himself, and he kissed Karkaroff. Independently, without any coercion or threats, and he couldn't believe he was doing it. The moment lasted until his arms would no longer support him without the burning pain becoming too much, at which point he flopped back down on the bed and glanced at Karkaroff's face to see what damage he had done.

Absolutely none at all.

"Why, Cedric," Karkaroff smirked. "I did not know you cared."

He walked two fingers up Cedric's chest, his long fingernails irritating the wounds he'd previously created. Lingering for a worrying while over the pulsing artery in the boy's throat, he slid his hand over the sweat- and blood-soaked skin, all the way down to the waistband of Cedric's boxer shorts, where he toyed with the material, almost absently.

"Your body betrays you, Cedric," Karkaroff sighed, slipping his hand inside Cedric's boxers, without any warning or preamble. The boy gasped, and his treacherous hormones began to work against him, as he felt Karkaroff's slender fingers begin to work on him. "I don't think it makes you feel anything."

Cedric's back arched, and, much as he tried to breathe deeply and stop it, he was getting harder by the second. Too many months of being the good, celibate Triwizard champion had made the touch of another a tantalising prospect, and apparently his libido was so indiscriminate it'd give itself over to anyone. He'd done stuff, yes, but they were quick hands-down-the-pants fumbles in the Owlery, with inexperienced girls and, on one occasion, a boy, who thought it would win them a date or a place on the Quidditch team. Karkaroff had experience, and knew exactly what to do to get Cedric off.

Not that he was going to do that right now, of course. He'd just driven Cedric a little wild, got him good and hard and ready, and as his hands withdrew from Cedric's boxers the boy made a keening noise, his eyes closed and his hands operating on autopilot to grab Karkaroff's wrists.

"I could be wrong," the Bulgarian's smile was predatory. "Why don't you show me how wrong I am."

Quickly reversing the grip Cedric had on his wrists, he moved the boy's palm to the front of his own trousers. It didn't seem like Cedric would have much work to do, as Karkaroff was already semi-hard, but he dutifully unbuttoned and unzipped and slid his hand inside. Karkaroff's eyes slid closed.

Cedric had no idea what he was meant to be doing, but working on his own experience of touching himself in the dark of the Hufflepuff boys' dormitories, and altering his approach based on the muffled curses and prayers Karkaroff let out in response, he managed to hold his own until Karkaroff, with a gasp, pulled his hand away forcibly.

"You have convinced me, Cedric," he laughed, leaning down to kiss the boy, pressing their bodies together. Cedric sank a little way into the mattress, with a whimper of lust and pain as the embroidered bedspread scratched his arms. His hips ground frustratingly against Karkaroff's.

And then a whole new level of pain wormed in and associated itself with the intense pleasure and that wasn't good because it was going to be stuck that way in Cedric's head for a long time and he didn't want it to be.

Karkaroff's nails had sunk into the as-yet-uninjured skin of Cedric's hips, deep enough to drawn more blood. But the teasing grinding didn't stop, and Cedric's breath began to quicken through his gritted teeth. He nipped at Karkaroff's lip when the man tried to kiss him again, and the pressure was lifted, for a moment, as his boxers were pulled down to his ankles. Unbidden by his mind, his feet kicked them off.

So now he was naked, writhing on his back beneath Igor Karkaroff like it was something normal to be doing. Of course it wasn't normal, but that added to the thrill of it. It was something you weren't supposed to do and that was infinitely more attractive than something you had to do. It was tempting, in its own way, to see exactly where the path led.

He spread his legs, wrapped them around Karkaroff's waist, all the while he was pushing his luck, seeing how far he could take it before there started to be some real consequences. He felt rather than saw Karkaroff's trousers coming off, the feeling of skin against skin somehow warmer than contact between layers of clothing. With his eyes half-closed and the cabin dark, he felt Karkaroff draw away, heard him spit, and then there was pain and he had pushed his luck right over the edge of a cliff.

"Bastard," his breaths got quicker, shallower, but this was the shallow of pain rather than of lust, and his partner knew it. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Karkaroff slid his fingers in, as Cedric adjusted to the sensation. His eyes were slits of pain, and the beads of sweat that had been accumulating through their bedroom antics felt cold against his skin, which raised in goosebumps.

Karkaroff didn't even answer him, just leaned towards the boy and kissed him. This was not the kind of kiss Cedric got from the girls in the Owlery. This was wild, and heady, and threatened to make him light-headed with prolonged exposure. Karkaroff's tongue carelessly plundered his mouth, and Cedric whimpered into the kiss as the man withdrew his fingers and eased his cock in instead.

"Nnh," Cedric turned his head away from the kiss as Karkaroff started up a slow rhythm, his eyes tightly screwed shut. Karkaroff licked at his neck, without particular care, and, changing the angle of his motions which sent another spasm of agony running through Cedric, he reached between them and wrapped his fingers around Cedric's shaft.

Confusion reigned in Cedric's mind, blanking out most other things in a blur of swimming colours before his eyes. The pain was still there, but he could put up with that if it meant Karkaroff's fingers working their magic on him.

The rhythm got faster, and more erratic, as Karkaroff's concentration split between the motion of his hips and the work of his hands. Cedric had long ceased paying attention to the minor wounds on his upper body, and all that mattered were the feelings of pleasure and pain mingling in the region of his groin.

Karkaroff pounded away for a few minutes at a speed which had the blood rushing in his ears, then he sagged and all the energy seemed to go out of him as he came, and withdrew from Cedric, lying on his side next to the boy.

Cedric had been on the very verge of release himself, and he was partly disappointed and partly angry that his pleasure had been cut short. He needn't have worried, as Karkaroff busied himself about Cedric's cock with mouth and hands.

It was the most physically intense experience of his life. Cedric clung to the sheets like someone undergoing a roller-coaster ride, scared that vertical might suddenly become horizontal and he would go rocketing off at a different angle. Karkaroff was gifted with his tongue in more ways than one, and behind the haze of overwhelming lust Cedric briefly wondered who he'd practised on. Before he'd had a chance to really savour the experience, he came, bucking his hips and thrusting deep into Karkaroff's throat, toes clenching on the bedsheets and fingers winding into the man's hair.

He lay back on the bed, as Karkaroff wiped his mouth with the tails of his shirt. Drifting in and out of consciousness, Cedric was only half-aware of Karkaroff getting off the bed, going over to where he kept his wand and performing a series of spells on him.

"Vulnera Sanentur... Tergeo... Obliviate..." he heard the man whisper, and then Cedric Diggory knew sleep.

(o.o)

The next morning, Cedric awoke to a bright blue sky outside the portholes of his bedroom, indicating the ship had emerged from wherever it had been lurking under the waves. He stretched, reflecting on the odd dreams the motion of the ship had given him, and when he pulled back the covers he was extremely embarrassed to find the underside sticky. Oh well, the boy who had gone over to Hogwarts would have to face some punishment when he returned, and laundry duty was better than manning the rigging or whatever else the Durmstrang students were expected to do aboard.

He dressed, quickly, and as he opened the door to his small cabin, the door opposite opened. It was Viktor Krum, watching Cedric with his sharp, Seeker's eyes.

"Did you sleep well?" the Bulgarian boy asked, and Cedric thought the question sounded a mite interrogatory.

"I... think so," he said, catching himself beginning to yawn as he closed the bedroom door behind him. "Must have done. Out like a light."

Krum was still studying him, and Cedric got the unnerving feeling the other boy knew something he didn't about what had been going on that night. He had a big black period in his memory between going to sleep and waking, but that was what _sleep_ was, right?

"Don't remember a thing," he said, conclusively.

Krum slapped him on the shoulder in a companionable way, and the two of them headed to the galley for breakfast.


End file.
